Kingdoms of Kalamar: The Death of Kings

Where our heroes reflect on a bad trip to a jungle.

Baron Woodlew, peer of the Kadana Circle of the Kingdom of Basir (a fancy, Coastie name for third cousin of the King with nothing but a simple barony and a keep, but possessed of enough clout within the extended family to get invited to royal affairs on any occasion of note) was widely considered to be a just and reasonable constable of his people and territory. And, prudent as anyone can be in these times of war on the borderlands, he made his contribution to his nation and king and empire and emperor in modest, but effective ways.

While any Duke could field an army, Tristan Woodlew (himself not native of Kalamar, but rather of an offshoot of the royal line that took his grandparents off to Pel Brolenon and his parents back to the Empire), was short on troops and money to pay for them even if he had them. What he was rich in, however, was refugees and wanderers from either the skirmishes with the Young Kingdoms to the North or the mountain clans of the West. They came, always, to find passage somewhere else or work to do. Dodera would not have them. Kalamar would only conscript them, Tokis would fight a three day battle all around them, so it was left to Basir to see them off and the poorer landowners to find what use they could of them.

Baron Woodlew’s use was paying (cheaply) for the more capable transients to beat up, run off, apprehend, or kill the ones that broke the laws or threatened his lands. In lieu of a company of good soldiers, he defended his corner of the kingdom with paid mercenaries and adventurers. The crown was pleased. Kalamar was pleased. All profited.

Mostly all.

For a few years, one group of transplants came to be more relied on than most. They had no collective name, most just knew them as Woodlew’s boys. And they were mostly just boys, as well. Not a one of them much older than twenty—Bast, in particular, barely out of puberty. For a few coins, they would fetch this or that, send messages, even beat up a criminal or two. Odom, the thief, was as close to a leader as the group had. Baron Woodlew liked him the most—mostly because the rest were just enormously unsettling in general.

Natsu was an inscrutable thing from the mountains in the West. Dragonborn were not unheard of in the world, but if the Baron’s cleverest associates were to be believed, there were none in the days of the old empire and certainly none before it. Common folk were scared (rightly) of them, and Natsu was the only one he ever met. Quiet. Often silent. Huge. Half-naked, but civilized to a severe degree—that by itself would make for awkward conversation were it not for the occasional joke or foolish moment (at least what it thought was a joke, clearly). It was like watching a rock chuckle to itself because it thought being wet with rain was hilarious.

Bast bore the horns of a demon and the skin of a fiend. In the old days, he would have been hounded out of these lands and likely murdered in the next ones. But, the world was not as it was—and things like him, men born of the seed of outside creatures—were not necessarily evil. To the contrary, compared to truly horrible things like orcs and hobgoblin soldiers and dwarvish terrorists, Bast—despite his red skin and odd manner—was a charming and witty person. He consorted with arcane powers, clearly, but never did any evil magicks that the Baron ever saw or heard. In truth, the children liked him and the smallfolk learned to treat him respectfully. Despite all of that, the tiefling often made social feau-pas and was never particularly interested in taking or giving orders.

One would think the human was better—Tristan of some temple Baron Woodlew had never heard of. A priest that seemed to eschew his own god, and occasionally appear to have forgotten which he’d worshipped at all. He was charming, but a seemingly spoiled boy with the barest manners and the weakest grasp on responsibility.

It fell to the young, serious-minded Half-Orc, Odom, to whip these boys along a better path. It was Odom who scouted ahead, Odom who snuck into camps of criminals, and Odom who did most of the serious talking with the Baron. Hell, it was Odom who proved to be the only one of them to ever actually ask for anything in return for their work (besides spending coin). Baron Woodlew regretted never having helped Odom search for his father. In truth, he’d grown to like the somewhat free-spirited green boy a lot. More than was respectable for a peer.

So, when he’d gotten word that they’d died hunting a creature on a small island off the coast—at the border of the Baron’s lands (a task he’d set them to, himself), he began carrying some regrets. They’d done so much for him, so little asked in return, and what little asked he’d been unable to help with—and now, those he’d come to rely on were dead. And dead for so little—the hunting of a rumor. In the grand scheme of things, with wars going on in the North and pirates on the seas and very real famines rocking his lordly neighbors… well, Baron Tristan Woodlew found some time for self-reflection and liked what he saw very little. Middle-aged. Portly. Hardly rich. Hardly famous. The grandson of a near-traitor, the son of exiles, the low-lord of a few fields and the exploiter of children.

When Odom’s gang came back—reports had been wrong, only the priest had died (falling off of a cliff on an island without a name off the coast of a village without a name in the lands of a Baron without an important name)—the Baron released them from his service. They protested. He held. They were hurt. But they were boys. They saw only their adventure, he saw their future. To die falling from a cliff, drowning in a lake, hungry, ill, diseased, mauled by a bear… and all for no great reason.

Baron Woodlew lost his taste for his adventures-by-proxy with Odom’s gang and the remaining members—three demihumans in the Empire—went their separate ways.

Odom went back home to Bet Dodera. Bast followed, for no other reason than he seemed to have no home himself. Natsu went back to the mountains. The priest was buried in Woodlew’s lands. A marker placed. The Baron would go onto to take walks by it frequently, as a reminder to the sins of wasted youth.

by Jeff

There are things that we know, and there are things that we do not know. We can search until our minds lose their grip on this reality and still not come to any conclusions. You see we base our thoughts, our realities, on things that are known. Things that have shape and form and substance. We believe in Gods, because they grant us power. Put simply, they touch our world. What happens when one tries to find answers in things that do not belong to this world. Many go down this path, and many find themselves turned away. Simple minds cannot grasp the things a Warlock must see. It takes a special one to be able to absorb what our patrons will show us. These things may be terrible, or they may be beautiful. It is not up to us. Simple minds will rot. Simple minds will be devoured.

My mind is not so simple. My mind is an ocean. When something falls into an ocean, the ocean does not resist. It does not fight this thing, or try and push the thing out. The thing passes into the ocean and becomes a part of it. Every concept. Every feeling, and emotion. Every idea, and thought is allowed. They are all valuable in some way. Do you see? This is the best way Bast knows how to relate to you where his power comes from. It is not an easy thing to try and put into words, but again Bast will try.

Time does not mean what you think it does. Bast will start here. When we say the world is this many years old, what does that mean? To things that have seen the birth of our very universe, what does this year mean? It means nothing. You see there are things out there that do not follow what we consider to be fundamental laws. Things that may manifest themselves to a few of us, and things that never will be seen, or mentioned in any book or scroll. Things that wait, or things that act.

One such thing is Eblis. Eblis has never known anything other than Eblis. Everything is it, and it is everything. One concept we have that you may understand is entropy. The idea that everything will devolve into a state of chaos, or better yet, that given enough time, the energy of any system will fall to zero. This idea may be a good place to start. When I say time has no meaning I truly mean that time has no meaning here. Get this out of your mind if you can. When the birth of all things happened, Eblis was there. When the universe decays and becomes nothing but black, Eblis will be there. It is the chaos of a system. It will be the end, and will also begin. Most mortal minds are only able to comprehend this in very simple ways, and Bast will not blame you if you are one of these. They will see soot from a tallow candle, or feel the disconcerting feeling when around mold and fungus. They will smell bad things when presented with rot, and notice “death” in the air.

These things are not so simple, however. These things are common to every place, every being, and every time. This is Eblis. It reaches out to those that have the capacity to hear it. No one knows why, and, most like, know one will ever know why. It’s power may be used by some. One thing that I do know for certain is that Bast’s path will forever be Eblis. Most like, Eblis likes me. Likes things “Like” me. It grants me some of its power so that I may continue to search. Maybe Eblis has a plan, or maybe it doesn’t. Bast may never find out, but Bast will search for the answers nonetheless. Go now, for the words to tell you more escape me. Use this if you will, or don’t, Bast is hungry, and will sleep.

by Ronnie

I have lived in the monastery all my life. I have no memories of my parents or where I come from. I have no desire to find out why I was left at the monastery. My only motivation now is how I can repay the kindness the monks have shown me. The way the monks lived together in this village was like each and every one of them were family. At an early age I was able to perform minor duties around the monastery do to my unique body. I was put on a pedestal by some of the elder monks because of this. The rest treated me like I was no different from anyone else. They never showed fear, hatred or looked down upon me. It’s like I was always apart of this family even before I came about. I was told that I could never leave the monastery because of what others in the world might think of me. That not everyone in the world has the same view as the monastery. Most would conceive me as a monster. Few would see me as a friend, but with the right amount of determination most everyone’s opinion of me could be change. Some you could change their view of me with just a little bit of kindness. Others will just hate me just because I’m different.

I was then told that the world is composed of good and evil. Even I had evil inside me and it is my decision to figure out which direction I was to take. I was never told that I had to follow their ways, but how could I deny their way of living. Everyone in the monastery was happy, greeted each other with excitement every day and even to ones outside the monastery the monks always showed kindness too. There were a few exceptions but only when hostile intent was shown. Even then the monks would never turn down an opportunity to save a soul that was misguided off the road of enlightenment. Souls further off the road of enlightenment will take some force to help them see a better way but not all will I be so lucky on. These souls are too far gone to save, but I must still try. They followed a certain way of engaging enemies in combat. Most refused to kill and would offer to show their foes a better way, of course after the enemies body recovered. Only a few were tasked with taking anothers life but would always give proper burials. I idolized this way of living. By completely overcoming their enemies and showing some kindness when the enemy is at one of his lowest points in life, some could be saved but not all.

With some knowledge on the rough road ahead of me. I knew I had to start my training soon to become strong enough to aid my family. They taught me their ways in martial arts using weapons but I prefer hand-to-hand combat. To me this felt natural. I would train from sunrise till early hours the next day and do it all over again. Once I became proficient in my skills. The elders allowed me to journey to other cities but only if I wanted too. They were not about to force me into a world that would not except me. I was excited and highly anticipated the day that I could go out and see others. My first couple missions were to go from village to village and allow the townspeople to get use to my appearance but was always accompanied by fellow monks. This was due to with the other monks with me my journey would be more enjoyable and the townsfolk would accept me me faster. As the months went on I grew closer to my brothers and sisters in my group. One in particular would always play pranks on me but every now and again I would retaliate with my own prank even tho they were not that good. We all would laugh and have a good time. Over time we began to break apart because the villagers would recognize me as member of the monastery and always loved see me coming their way. The children would come and try to get me to play games with them, which I enjoyed tremendously, but only for a bit. I could not be side tracked off my mission for which I came to this place. Afterwards tho before leaving the villages I would always leave resume playing the games with the children and helping others with small deeds around their homes. It was always painful to leave such happiness behind but there are other tasks I must take care of.

On my travels I always came back to Bet Dodera in Dodera. I would always go to the local inn and restock provisions before heading back out. I would always see a half orc rogish fellow in the corner drinking by himself or on a rare occasion with some questionable looking people. On this day tho he was by himself. I decided that I would try to form a bond with this guy. I grabbed a drink and sat next to the half orc. He was stand offish at first but realized that I was extremely stubborn when I was set in my ways. Ever since that day our friendship grew. We became the best of comrades but for some reason would always avoid the lawmen. After months of grouping with each other the lawmen tried to slander my monastery and ruin the reputation of my home. I do not take kindly to this kind of behavior and no one shall sully my family name and honor, but before I lose my anger Odom would always step in and take care of the issue before I could do anything about it. I believe it’s his way of helping me protect my families honor. I would pick up jobs from the city hall to bring in wrong does. Helping the guard with jobs they would not do themselves. I was able to grow a small friendship and understanding with the local guards. It wasn’t long before rumors of such was forgotten or even spoken of dishonoring my family. Later I would find out that Odom is apart of a guild that not many good people come from. He seemed to be the exception tho. Even tho I do not agree with his methods, I do like that he is doing what he can to help fight for the side of good.

One night as Odom and I were sitting in the Inn a devilish being walked in and started ordering all kinds of extravagant food. Whatever he didn’t finish he would just throw away. This was absurde, this unknown being just throwing away perfectly good food just because it didn’t taste the way he wanted it. While we were sitting here eating what looked to be month old bread and something that resembled meat………. Then he would whip out a flute which he had no idea how to play, and play very…….very loudly. Everyone had enough. I invited him over. We were lucky enough tho to be able to eat and drink whatever he didn’t like. Once we got to know him, he’s not so bad. Bast became a good addition to the crew.

On our way out that night we happened to bump into a cleric of a church that he could not clearly tell us which god he worshipped. I think it was all of them.?.? He looked lonely so we invited him to join us the next night. Why not, we already had the weirdest looking group ever. Lets throw some human up in here. Tristun was a good man.

by Roger

It was about fifteen years ago that I lost my father. It was no illness that took him from me, not a wound, not the town guard. Just vanished, leaving a note that said “I can’t tell you what I have done in the past there are some things that no man should do. You will not see me again, this is for the best I assure you.” As I finished the note all I could think is how could a man to do that to his own son? That evening a strange fellow in a black cloak, dark as the night knocked on the door asking to see my father, intimidating figure he was with the hood up and me being twelve. I told the man the truth that father had left late in the night to get prepared for the mornings work and when I awoke he was gone. The man stood there silent cold. I remember the words the spoke next, it felt like they burned into my soul itself. “The sins of the father are passed to the son.” You will find him or you will forever carry his burden. I will come for you some day, taking you now would spare you too much, you have too many hardships still to endure in this forsaken land. Find your father and I’ll take him instead, do not ever think that I cannot find you. I could just do it myself, like I have just done albeit a little late it seems but that would ruin the only reason I am letting you live. I have spent too much time on this task to just let it go. With that last statement the man reached out and touched my head and the world turned black.

I was running down a dimly lit hallway that seemed to carry on forever it was chasing me. I had to run faster it was gaining. How did I get here? What have I done to deserve to be chased by this monster? I have to find my father it’s the only way the man would spare me. I think the monster turned around, finally I can catch my breath. What are these symbols? As I took a closer look there was a quick noise, as I turned the four-legged beast leaped on top of me as it bit into my neck I shrieked awake. Weeping at the fear that I had just experienced was the only thing that I could do. I had to find my father he could fix this. I gathered what was valuable that I could sell and headed into town. I could tell the guard but they would just toss me into the bin, no I had to do this on my own for myself.

The town was huge. I remember come here with mother once before she passed, we went to pickup fresh bread. Those were the great times before she had gotten sick. Where do I start? I could talk to the adults but that would just get me sent to a church for penance. As I walked down the street I noticed every couple of alleys there were kids about my age. I could talk to them, would be a lot easier also. As I approached this one kid his hands started moving in weird gesture. “Are you trying to curse me?” I said. “No” he replied. As I was asking the street boy some questions I noticed that the other kids down the other alleys started to surround us. “I mean you no harm, you don’t need to do this.” “You’re alone halfie and information isn’t free.” With that the group attacked.

Covering up was all I could do I was on the ground absorbing kicks in a matter of seconds. After what seemed like hours they stopped hitting me. While I laid there busted up and bruised they were looking through my backpack. Not sure what they were gonna find in there other than some silver extra clothes and a carving my mother gave me.

“Is this all you have? Who are you here with?” he asked.

With rasped voice “I’m looking for my father he left me last night for dead” I replied.

“Who’s father hasn’t left us for dead? How about you Thom your father leave you for dead?”

“Yea Willum, he left me in the gutter.”

“Get up your coming with us now, the name is Willum. Lets get some food into you and see what your good at you could be useful for us and in turn we will help you when we can.”

by Kathie

I lost my parents when I was very young. I’m not sure how old. I can’t even remember what they looked like exactly. I do remember being loved and having a warm home. I remember feeling safe. However, those memories are few. I grew up in squalor. Until the age of 12, I lived on the streets. I never knew where my next meal was coming from. I had to steal to survive. That’s how I met Hobe.

Hobe was the Duke—the Grand Duke Hobe Lokandana. Years before, he’d started a tradition, to be close to his people, of going out alone every few years to see and feel the realities of Bet Dodera. One night a vendor caught me stealing bread. Hobe offered to pay for it if the vendor would let me go. At first, I thought he would be like the other men. Offering to buy me stuff if I promised to return the favor in other ways. The perverts. However, it didn’t take me long to realize that he was different, but I didn’t stick around to figure out why. I thanked him and went on my way. Over coming years, I would run into him several more times. Each time we would talk more and more. Granted I never fully trusted him, but I trusted him enough that when he offered me a place to stay, I took him up on it. Over the years he became a father figure to me, and me a daughter to him. He had lost his wife and daughter many years ago. I didn’t ask how. Frankly, I didn’t care. He was taking care of me, and I filled a void in his life. I was okay with that.

With Hobe’s patronage, I studied many things, but I excelled at spell craft. And even though I didn’t go without, I still found myself stealing every once in a while. I loved the thrill and the power of taking things that didn’t belong to me. It became an addiction.

I was 20 when Hobe died. Over the next 40 years, I used the money he bequeathed me to learn more about spellcraft. I finally learned enough that I was able to start a spell book, but I want more. I want an entire arcane library. I want power. Power means never stealing your bread again.

Where our heroes remember their youth and take a job.

Every month or so in the Duke’s Own tavern (a word play by the owner, a miserable bastard who thought it a clever way to earn business from regiments moving northward from Bet Kalamar), several quiet figures would get together to rehash old times and enjoy a drink (some more than others).

Bast kept rooms there, most nights were spent gambling and chatting up the officers (foreign and local) and tradesmen that drank in the relatively pricey establishment. On occasion, he’d leave for a short trip south or a longer trip up into the mountains, but for the last few years, it’s been rooms at the Duke’s Own—the only inn in town that promised feather beds in the nicer compartments and roasted poultry rather than a pot of goo over the fire.

As always, he was the first. Odom would wander in, always looking over his shoulder—it’d take a few drinks (and did he love the drink, these days) before he’d let the hood down and actually enjoy himself. This time, however, he came with a new friend. “A friend of a friend”, he said—a pretty obvious nod to Odom’s occupation and the sorts of… people… he worked around.

She was stern looking, quiet. Hardly looked like a cutpurse at all. Elvish, probably. Had the ears. And the arrogance. She sat down, she drank quietly. She looked like for all the world that she could be less interested in the music or the laughter. Odom said her name was Astrid. Odom said a lot of things. Chit chat was forced. She wasn’t a real stellar conversationalist and Bast found himself enjoying Odom’s company the most, a few drinks (many for the half-orc, though) and it was talks of the jungle and reminiscing about service in the Barony.

They expected Natsu any time. He’d been walking the trails between Kalamar, Dodera, Tokis, and Pekal for years now. Always the same path. Always the same stops. Always the same mission and message: peace, order, loyalty. There were many towns and villages (even soldiers) that had appreciated the monk’s message, and he’d come a long way from his humble beginnings. Odom remembered their days, sleeping in barns and eating garbage (well, nearly garbage) just to survive on the trail—Bast couldn’t relate, money seemed to find him easily enough back then as well. Now, though, the dragonborn still unnerved the humans… but the teaching of his and his kind had made an impact in this part of the world. It was more often than not that Natsu slept in beds, provided by those sympathetic to his cause and the gods that governed the mountain monastery he came from.

This time, though, on the 4th day of the month of Declarations—when the old gang got together in Bet Dodera to remember their tiny, petty adventures—for the first time, Natsu walked in with someone else. Not just a “someone”, but a human… and one that seemed very much like an officer or soldier with the way he carried himself. In animated conversation the two strolled into the Duke’s Own and joined the rest.

The last time Odom and Bast and Natsu had “old time” with a human was back in the damn old times, themselves.

Not that humans weren’t everywhere. They were. And Kalamar was not, by any stretch, Brandobia—what tales they’d heard—but… still. Odom was used to the looks. Bast rarely even acknowledged the ones he got. Even Astrid was getting glances from the other patrons (all human), and not all of them lude. One could wait an entire day and not hear Natsu say anything in that gravely voice of his, and here he was almost joking with the soldier.

He called himself Malleus. Just the kind of pretentious Kalamaran high borns named their children.

He would be why they wore chains. He would save them. He would also condemn them. It was… or, I suppose “will be” complicated. But, that’s a story for later.

Malleus proved a charming, adroite, polite former officer of the Emperor’s Own. Charming, although a bit too regimented and orderly in his manner (constantly correcting the poor serving woman on how Kalamaran table etiquette demanded this or that of her in a formal setting). Natsu and him spent half the evening engrossed in conversations about the proper role of authority in different hypothetical situations while Odom and Bast told Astrid about their adventures.

She listened… closely. When Odom would pull a coin for another clay of ale, her eyes followed it from his pocket to the hand that whisked it away. Bast’s purse, worn on his belt without care. Malleus had a silver… something… tucked into a pocket of his cloak. Natsu had a box, something metal, looked like an heirloom—it was in a bag that slumped open against the table when he leaned in. The table next to them was playing dice and there was enough money out in the open to feed her for two months…

…stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Old habits. Old habits. She had to stop all of that. Petty. Childish. Nonsense. She was a woman grown, in her sixties and finally able to take on the world—and that life was behind her. How many people (ANY of them) in this city could do what she could? Maybe what? Ten? And if the Duke’s army was out whalloping the crap out of dwarves or something—and they were gone? How many then? Maybe five? Two?

It had taken a tiny fortune. Favors. Time spent (unpleasant time, as well) lavishing praise and smiles at the right nobility and the right guild masters to learn as much as she had. Arcane power was hers. Her book was new, hide covering fine parchment fresh from that lady on the south-side—whatever her name was… Astrid remembered her father better than her, but they had a fair trade in bottles and vials and ink and paper.

Her book. HER book. Not her patron’s—a former Duke of Dodera from nearly forty years ago. Hers. And she could shake the world to its roots. And she would break the backs of the gods themselves. She would be loved. And feared. And sated on power. And—

—what?

Bast was open-mouthed laughing and nearly choking on his own humor as everyone at the table stared. She’d been scowling and making hand motions low on the table of one of her spells. And the warlock found it intensely, disgustingly funny.

Such was their night. The drinks kept pouring, the coin kept appearing, and they all got well and truly drunk together. The other patrons of the Duke’s own avoided the table in the corner—and felt a little jealousy as well, most like.

So, when the dwarf came in—to the arresting silence of the tavern (fucking lying, no-good, dwarf bastards)—and asked for hands to guard and escort a wagon South… for a moment (one, auspicious moment) there were only two sounds in the entire inn. One, a dwarf offering more and more money to get mining provisions to a town South of the capitol in the next few days; and two, a table of fellow non-humans (mostly) sharing some inside joke, drunk and reclining on their benches, interested in refilling their purses after the cost of the night.

The road itself was perilous, of course.

Goblins, in truth.

Ambushes and violence and attempted banditry and Natsu insisting (to deaf ears all around) afterward that they should just go to Phande-whatever-the-place-was with the provisions because THAT was the job.

Odom, Bast, and Astrid were already ankle deep in mud and well on their way through the woods while the dragonborn and the soldier rolled their eyes in frustration. A hike through the woods hunting bad guys—it was as though nobody had learned the lessons of the Priest. But, the two followed—Natsu out of loyalty, Malleus out of the vice of a competative spirit. And hours later, the gang would arrive at the cave that would teach them the most important lesson of their whole lives:

This is real.

This is impossibly real. Not the stories. Not the songs. Not the bullshit bards sing when a room full of farmers are drunk in their watered down beer.

The world is larger and more dangerous than they’d ever imagined.

It took two days. Broken bones and punctured lungs and a crushed eye socket. Blood spilled. Screams. But in the end, they’d found a man taken captive—treated poorly, as well—by the goblins. He was an associate of the dwarf that hired them. He seemed forthright, if a little racist (despite insisting on speaking only to Malleus as “one military man to another”, it seemed it was more because he was a “man” and not a “thing”). They recovered some trade goods from a merchant’s guild that seemed to have been (quite hugely) robbed at some point. And, with some haste, they left the cave behind. The small dead bodies piled high, a large hairy head left to rot on a spike outside of it.

To Phandalin, then.

And, gods be good, enough money to go home and buy enough drinks at the Duke’s Own to forget what they had to do.

by Jim

I died there, at the hands of skulking cowards. No, not at their hands. Their damnable arrows, fired from the shadows when my back was turned, they sent me face first into the mud. I know I died, and I felt nothing but regret and shame. Regret at reaching my end before I could complete my grand vision. Shame at dying so pathetically, like a beggar on the street would die, not as a proud soldier of the Sons of Scorn. I died weak. Unaccomplished. And as I watched the elf pass me by in my final seconds, I realized something far worse … I died forgotten.

But it was not to be.

I’m unable to fully piece together what happened, but it would appear not everybody had simply ignored my wounds. I understand not what dark bargains that creature has struck, but whatever power this Bast possesses, it was enough to pull me back from oblivion and into the living world once more. Even more curiously, I awoke stronger, smarter, somehow … superior … than before. I cannot yet comprehend this situation, and do not know for what purpose I live, so will instead tackle the scenario with simplicity – whatever happened, Bast saved my life, and as such it is now his until such a time as the debt may be repaid. I have little left in this world, but I do still possess the honor of Captain Malleus Exile, and not even death itself will rob me of it.

So it is that I find myself now anchored to this curious group of fellows. A half-orc thief, with questionable methods and even more questionable priorities. Natsu, the dragon descendant with whom I have had many fascinating discussions. Bast, the Tiefling, my savior, a strange thing with secrets I would possess … but am pledged to for now. And … her.

Her.

Just as I owe Bast a debt, I owe this Astrid too. I have always been a believer in paying for the things we take, in reaping the things we sow. I won’t forget where the scales lie.

Even so, it would appear she is a source of great knowledge, as Harkene the mage was back in my military years. I learned so much from that old bastard, about how the arcane arts can be put to such wonderfully effective use on the battlefield. And now, with my newfound strength, I may finally be on the path to obtaining that power for myself. Perhaps I can even overlook the elf’s debt if she proves useful in this endeavor. Perhaps.

For now, we find ourselves rested and prepared for several tasks at hand. Most appetizingly, there is word of immoral, unethical, and unjust men that must be treated with in this very town. How awful for everyone that criminals are allowed to run rampant in the streets. How cruel is this world that the common folk must find themselves under the heels of brutes and savages. How sad that bad people do bad things, and the good suffer in their name.

How delightful that such villains so oft find themselves outside the jurisdiction of good men … and well within the confines of mine own.

Where our heroes uncover a conspiracy and a dangerous den of thieves...

“We’d been down there for ages—I think mama went crazy a few times. Papa died, the big goblin men did it I think, even though the Tristan boys said they did it. Dekan and Peter Tristan had been my younger brother, Nars’, mates. Sort of. All of them were of an age and in a town as small as Phandalin, you didn’t grow up ignorant of your peers, even if you didn’t spend much time with them, say it true.

“Dekan is… was, I suppose, the elder Tristan—father some kind of miner. Don’t know which, say I don’t and I don’t. Except, most everyone’s father is a miner and those what ain’t supply them. Papa was as well, though Mama had put on airs for years and more because her family taught her some herbs and medicine and potions as a young one no bigger than Nars back in Thundertree years and years ago.

“Thundertree was ‘dead’, Mama always said. I don’t know what that means except nobody my whole life in Phandalin ever went there and that was fine by me. I was trying to kiss the Tristan boys when they got an age on them and the Elkana boy… and all that seems longer ago, years. Even if Harvest dance was only a week back. Maybe this is what Thundertree feels like. Maybe this is what ‘dead’ meant. Maybe it just means old.

“Dekan and Peter were the first of the gang we all saw, true as true. Saw them with their red cloaks and Nars thought it the greatest adventure, and Papa scowled. He’d known them most their lives, same as me and all. The ‘Cloaks had sent them to collect some of Papa’s things. I don’t know what. He was hush as a quiet thing about that, but I could see the argument in the night air outside our stoop. It was a queer thing. Dekan was the same boy I remember muddy to the gills, catching frogs and teasing Nars. But, he wasn’t. He was not much younger than me, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He wore himself a weak beard and carried a man’s sword and walked like that red cloak was the great armor of the Hobgoblin King hisself.

“Dekan was mad. Papa was mad. I couldn’t hear them above like I was, except to hear them angry. Peter came around the side, quick as you like—and when he dropped the hood over Papa’s head, it was like watching someone else’s life happen. Like hearing a story time from Trobon over at the Inn some evenings… hearing a story about someone else’s life and it ain’t real, but it’s present.

“By the time I pulled my senses together and screamed, by the time I ran down the stairs, and by the time Mama and I ran out into the street—they were gone. Every of them. The only people in the night were a red cloaked man, older than Papa I think, just watching me… staring. Me and Mama. And something small and dark. I couldn’t see it. But it walked like a man, it wasn’t no animal.

“They came for us that night. The beatings started. The hoods. And when we woke, awake in those cells in the days after—how many I won’t know and couldn’t say… wait… what is today, sir?

“As long ago as that?

“Gods.

“… right, as you say, one of those days the rapes started. And Mama went away in that cell and I think however she was wounded in the heart when Papa was taken, she died then on the stone floor praying Nars wouldn’t wake over in them other cages. The rough man said she’d best let him and be quiet—or he’s see. And that’s when Mama stopped being. And I don’t know if she’ll be back. She’s sleeping, now, sir. I don’t know if she’ll ever really ‘wake’, though.

“It was a few of them. The next day they beat Nars—only a thirteen year old boy at that, and unarmed and starving and they put a stick in his hand and the large hairy goblin thing near broke his leg with that maul or mace thing of his. Everyone laughed. That old sage that told them all what to do even laughed, it was the only time I saw him ever, sir, it’s a true thing I say.

“Old. Bald. Tattoos. No, sir, on his head. I don’t know… like a bird or a kind of swoopy shape. I couldn’t know what I means, sir. But he was there. And then he wasn’t.

“The red cloaks came often. They told us Dekan and Peter did for Papa. They told us they did things to his body. That he should have given them what they wanted, as the others. That all this was Papa’s fault. Mama was incoherent, never lie. Gone. Nars crying. They came for me, and all the gods forgive me, I didn’t fight them. If there was a way out of it all, sir, it would only come to me for it—that’s what I thought. Mama fought and had been hurt bad, inside and out. I needed to be strong for my brother and her. I went away, and they couldn’t break me that way. "

“The townmaster is scared of them cloaks. And the shops. Barthen. The miners. Everyone. And nobody says nothing when they take and take. They paid for Cobb, sir. Everyone knows it. I don’t care if I might die now for saying, I’ve nothing left to lose. Maybe Nars and Mama and I would be better off with Papa, living in Thundertree or some such, spirits and ghosts that can’t be touched by evil men in scarlet clothes.

“Dekan was the last one, this morning. Peter watched and was to have at me next. That’s how my eye is poorly and hurts, he hit me hard when I begged him to let us go. For the kiss I stole when we were children. For the frogs with Nars. He scowled and hit me and I don’t remember much of what else he done when the fight was out of me except he was quick about it and I think ashamed. They was taunting me and Nars when you came in. Telling us they was gonna sell us for slaves and send us off to Pel Brolenon to be used and used.

“And you all killed them. So quick. And brave. It was a shock of miracles and lights and creatures. I nearly thought you’d been a great dark skitter of night bats for a moment, but it must have been my mind playing tricks. I thought you were a great demon of the deep sent to judge them their sins and follies and evils. But, you’ve been kind to us and this inn may yet save what little of Mama they left. I think Nars is sleeping in your own bed. I thank you that, too.

“I’m glad you killed them, sir. I mourn a little, maybe grieve some for them boys I knew. That it all turned this way. But I look at Mama, and what Nars and me lost so recently… and I’m glad you killed them all. I don’t know why I ain’t crying, though. For Mama or Papa. Or for me. Or even bad as I feel for the Tristan boys and what path led them to this… I don’t feel anything.

“Why can’t I feel anything, sir?

“Is this… all there is now?

“I feel as though the wind might blow me away—that there is only dust now. In me, about me. The gods didn’t save us. You and your strange people did.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to sleep now, sir—that’s all I know. About any of it. If I remember more, can I tell you tomorrow. I think I should nap with Mama a while.”

by Jim

“There are two Captain Exiles,” is what Harkene told me once, with a smile. "There is Captain Exile the hero. A man who’d sooner die than break a promise, who’d risk life and limb to save a comrade, beloved by his men, admired by his superiors.

“And then there’s the one everybody outside of Bet Kalamar knows.”

I am a good man.

Do I enjoy the killing? Yes. Do I revel in the blood? Oh yes. Do I drink in the screams as if they were a fine, fine wine? Yes, yes, by all the Gods yes.

But you have to understand WHY I enjoy it. I am no mere sadist, no perverse peddler of indiscriminate slaughter. These … I hesitate to call them men … operate outside of the law. They kill, they steal, they burn, they force themselves upon those who cannot fight back. They are the corrupt, the treacherous, the cowardly. They are as beasts, and do we not cut the throats of beasts for a greater purpose?

I enjoy what I do because I enjoy seeing filth get what filth deserves. When some would-be robber finds himself stripped of gold and clothing, and marched through the streets with his shriveled fruits on display, is it not humorous? When a murderer has his blade torn from his hand and thrust into his own vile black heart, is it not righteous?

Others talk of the law, of seeing these creatures brought to justice through the “proper” authorities, but why should we extend the benefits of the law to those who abandon it so freely? Why should the protections of society extend to monsters who seek only to poison it? Why grant rights and respects to those who RESPECT NO RIGHTS?

Let us be honest with ourselves here. The law, as it stands, is ill equipped to deal with the criminal element that infests every town like a rotting, pus-filled sac of putridity. If it were, families would not fear to walk the so-called civilized streets at night. The law, as it stands, is not something a criminal mind can understand. If it did, it would not turn its back on the justice system without so much as a shred of remorse.

It felt good to take the half-orc’s blade and thrust it into the jaw of that sniveling little wretch – ambusher, murderer, and liar that he was. I was nothing but fair. I told him that if he lied, I would hurt him. He lied. I hurt him. Thus, he learned that if we lie, we get in trouble, and he was a good little dog thereafter. You see, quick, decisive, corrective punishment is all these things understand. And I DON’T understand why Natsu objects to this, I don’t understand why Odom looks at me as if I’M the villain. What good is all that power of theirs if they refuse to use it for good?

So I am a good man, you see. A champion of justice. Perhaps the last good man left. You understand that, right? Good.

Now, I’m going to take the gag off and the candles away, okay? Then we’re going to talk again about the Red Cloaks, and why such a young man would fall in with such low scum.

by Ronnie

In my travels across this land to help guide souls down the right path, I have begun to fully understand just how difficult this is going to be. This will not be an easy battle for them either. Either they will see my side of this war and join a better way of life or they will regret their decision to stand against me. If they decide to do things the hard way, we shall do them the hard way. It just means I get to have a little more fun.

It sadden me to find out that this town need so much help, but excited me a little also that I will be able to do so much good in the name of my family. As we were working our first mission from the town. It was ultimately meet with disaster. We overwhelmed them with shear force and was able to take a prisoner. This was then I was able to see the true self of one of my comrades. I always knew he had a different way of thinking but I do not know if I can stand by and watch these things happen to ones who have already given up. Luckily we were able to get some good information out of the prisoner before Malleus did his deed to the man. I do not know if I can forget what he did to this man. I do know now that he might need to be saved himself. I might have to one day help correct this man path decisions, I hope it will not have to come to that. As for for the others I have no issues with, yet.

When we arrived to the manor, it had a very uneasy feeling to it. Full of hate and smelled of death. This place must be brought to into balance. As we cleared out a couple riff-raff, we came across one being that seemed to have completely given up altogether. This monster who had given up his humanity for a little extra power to make people recognize his greatness, will only be remember as the monster that lost his one and only green eye, as well as his life. We continued on, we vanquished some more monsters and saved some hostages. We also learned that this town is going to need to be brought back to order before we move on. There has been one to many reportings of corruption and abuse of status for me to just look the other way. I will help this town regan the balance. There will be order.